Baal HaSulam begins his preface to the Zohar by narrowing the reader's field of vision.
Baal HaSulam lays down three ground rules, and the first one is all about perception. He tells us there are four aspects, four ways we perceive things: substance (etzem), form in substance (tzura b'etzem), abstract form (tzura muvshechet), and essence (mahut). Heavy stuff. a bit.
Think of it like this: imagine a beautiful, intricately designed teacup.
The substance is the material it's made from – the clay, the porcelain. It's the raw, physical thing.
The form in substance is the shape of the teacup, the way the handle curves, the pattern painted on its surface. It's the form that's inseparable from the physical cup itself.
Then we get to the abstract form. This is where it gets a little more… well, abstract. The abstract form is the idea of "teacup-ness." It's the concept of a teacup, separate from any particular teacup. You can imagine a teacup without picturing a specific one.
And finally, the essence. This is the deepest, most unknowable aspect. It's the "what it is" of the teacup, its ultimate reality. It's the question of "why is there a teacup at all?" – the kind of question that keeps philosophers up at night.
Why is this important for reading the Zohar? Because, Baal HaSulam emphasizes, the Zohar doesn't deal with the essence or the abstract form of the sefirot (the divine emanations). The sefirot, these ten emanations of divine energy, are the building blocks of creation in Kabbalistic thought. The Zohar, according to Baal HaSulam, focuses on the substance of the sefirot and the form that is still enclothed within that substance.
Think of it like this: we can talk about Keter, the first sefirah (a divine emanation), often associated with the Divine Will. The Zohar isn't trying to define the essence of the Divine Will – that’s beyond our grasp. Nor is it talking about the abstract concept of "will" in some philosophical sense. Instead, it is concerned with how that divine will manifests – its "substance" – and the specific forms it takes within creation.
Essentially, the Zohar is concerned with the relatable, the manifested. It's about how the divine interacts with our world, not about the unknowable depths of the divine itself. It’s about the teacup itself, not the abstract idea of “teacup-ness” or the ultimate reason for its existence.
This is a crucial point. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, the Rabbis were careful about what they discussed in public and what they kept hidden. The Zohar, in its own way, follows this principle, hinting at deeper truths while remaining grounded in the realm of manifestation. As Ginzberg retells in Legends of the Jews, the ancient sages understood the limits of human comprehension.
So, as we approach the Zohar, let's remember Baal HaSulam's first principle. Let’s focus on what’s being revealed, on the forms we can perceive within the substance of creation. It’s a reminder that we don't need to grasp the ungraspable to find meaning and connection in this ancient and profound text. And perhaps, in focusing on the manifested, we can catch a glimpse of the essence it reflects.